Daily Archives: November 25, 2002

And I thought I’d seen some crazy “Musician Wanted” ads in my time …

This is a piece of “found” Poetry. That is to say, I found this to be TOO much, and so over-the-top that it is almost histrionically funny. That of course was not it’s intent – I’m sure they were going for the Gurdijieff approach to structured language that discourages pattern thinking. Someone, anyone, help me to understand exactly what it is this band does, sounds like, or wants to be when it grows up … Help me, I’d like to count it off, is it alright … is it alright if I scream?

As a result of its perceived Gurdijieff connection, I like to call this piece “Meetings with Remarkable Idiots” …
From an on-line entry at New Orleans Musician:

DRUMMER CRUCIAL!
18-26
need genius, talented, layered, complex, immense, versatile drums 4 sharp,
tragic, ravaged, rasberry, sexy, urgent, shrill, contrast, young new rock
we are so damn good and so damn anxious and ready, but we cant find a damn
good enough drummer! would love huge sounding drums with large kit. none
of that less is more little setup shit. MORE IS MORE!

we are 22. this is all we want to do. we bought a house for it, we are
quitting our jobs for it. we breathe and sleep it. and 100% know we are
the greatest. 100% worth it. no limits. no bullshit.

new, amazing, dedicated, over the top, into the clouds.

we’re not indie, not emo, not hardcore, not postpunk, not garage, not retro,
not nu-metal, not postrock, not jaded. we are vast, shattering, delicate,
young, aware, asway, cutting, changing, pretty, and fierce. we need an
incredible drummer to pull this off with; to work with closely and
intensely.

i dont care where you live, if you know and love what im saying, do NOT
hesitate to write us! i could not be more serious, we WILL work something
out. there is absolutely no time to delay.

Oh PUL LEASE …

The Write Stuff: a Shakespearean sonnet

To write, and do it well, is my intent –
in idioms of verse and prose and play;
Success or failure will be evident
In how my critics judge the things I say.

I do not hope to be of world reknown,
I’d rather be a big fish in this pond
And let the words reflect thoughts all my own
than have them echo someone else’s song.

The muses, let them find me as they may –
I court them with an honest, caring soul;
For false pretense will only bring dismay,
And lend me in disguise some leading role.

I write, and sing, and dance on my own stage –
for my heart cannot see life as a cage.

25 NOV 2002

The Gift of Life: a modified Spenserian sonnet

A precious gift is life; and how we use
each moment tells just what we think it’s worth:
a wasted dawn is reproof of our birth,
and consequences that we can’t refuse.

There is no misplaced talent on this earth,
for with each voice a different song is heard;
and it is never useless or absurd.
So sing it out with joy and endless mirth!

To those who mutter, “life is only merde,”
I say, go fertilize your garden bed.
There is no point in living when you’re dead,
so seize each day and give it living words.

For life is made of each of our intents;
against that thought, none can bring evidence.

25 NOV 2002